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Built into the cliffs overlooking the Suvan Sea, Riverfall resides on the edge of grasslands of Cyphrus where the Bluevein River plunges off the plain and cascades down to the inland sea below. Home of the Akalak, Riverfall is a self-supporting city populated by devoted warriors. [Riverfall Codex]

Orin wiped the sweat off of his brow and sighed. Riverfall was having a bit of a heat wave these past few days and the chef didn't exactly work in a place that was cold. Sure, they had their windows as wide open as possible to allow as much air as possible to filter through the kitchen and of course they were only using the minimum amount of stoves and ovens to work with in deference to the heat. But this was a kitchen, and some amount of fire was necessary, so Orin and his co-workers would have to suffer in silence. Besides if Orin had to choose between a bit of heat and working as a chef, working as a chef would win every time. Beyond that, considering how long Orin had worked in kitchens, he'd built up a rather high tolerance for heat.

All that was to say that despite the oppressive temperature, Orin was just fine. Well that was a bit of a lie, but he was fine with the weather. What he wasn't fine with was his energy levels. The chef had been feeling rather drained lately, as if something had been sapping his strength. Normally he'd put it down to his ongoing struggle with depression, but this felt different from the times Orin had been apathetic, as if his emotions were being muted without his control. It was subtle, but Orin was having trouble mustering up the same level of enthusiasm he was used to. Still, at least the kitchen was a bastion where the chef didn't have to worry about anything and could lose himself in his work.

He was making a fish dish, as so many of the dishes made in this city were. Orin supposed it made sense, given the huge amount of water surrounding them. Despite the amount of time he'd lived here, Orin didn't have a good sense of what other types of meats were readily available. It was probably related to the fact that Orin had not ventured out into the Sea of Grass even once in all his time here. Orin had bad luck regarding leaving the city walls and after hearing some horror stories about the Sea of Grass, was widely staying safely inside the city limits. It had the unfortunate side effect of severely limiting the chef’s knowledge of the environment he lived in but Orin felt his life wasn't worth that particular information.

So Orin had gotten used to cooking a lot of fish and being surprised whenever something else showed up on his kitchen counter. In the meantime, though, Orin was learning to simply sit back and follow the latest recipe. At least today the chef got to experience something new in the realm of seafood. He was about to broil some snapper, which was old news, but what was new to him was the sauce that was being used. Dollar had found an old recipe somewhere and had written it on the chalkboard they used to indicate the meal of the day.

First the chef was going to have to make two other special sauces that he'd eventually combine with a few other ingredients to make the final quite unique sauce. Even though it was a rather involved process, learning new recipes was one of the only activities that actually brought Orin any degree of joy these days. So the chef got cooking port, raisins, anchovies, salt, white vinegar, the salt, the snapper, and the rest of the ingredients he'd need later on. Placing those down, Orin walked over to their oregano plants, placed on a windowsill along with the other potted herbs The Almond Blossom kept in order to have fresh spices whenever necessary. Taking a bit of soil between his fingers, Orin decided that it was a bit dry, and watered the plant. That task done, the chef pinched off the leaves necessary, then went back to his work station. First Orin collected two pots. Water went into one and the port went into the other. In the pot with water he added the required amounts of salt, white vinegar, anchovies, and the oregano he'd just picked. That was going to end up being something called liquamen. He put raisins in with the port for the passum sauce, then took both pots over to the stove and left them uncovered. He was supposed to reduce them both by half, so he placed them on a relatively hot part of the stove.

Orin knew that the wine would come to a boil more quickly than the water, and reduce more quickly as well, so even he would have to keep an eye on the pots with their differential cooking times. For now, though, Orin took up the snapper and a knife. He was ready to begin cutting fillets, even as the aromatic smell of the sauces started wafting through the kitchen, making the entire staff take notice.

A reservation card had been sent ahead to Apple Blossom, ‘Table for one. Kel’Halavath.’

Taking in the old domed building which stood impressively staunch and important on Riverfall’s first tier, Salara made a point to linger as she walked past City Council on her way to her first big assignment. She'd spent the last several days watching people coming and going and had even sat in on several council meetings which were open to the public. Never one big on government, but now become a place of interest for potential information for Scarred Wolf Investigations, Salara thought it would give her some perspective on the types of people she would be looking for at the Almond Blossom. Important Somebodies or their lackeys…er… staff that might inadvertently spill information from the Council of Elders when they thought no one would be listening.

She didn’t expect world breaking information would be shared over a cup of tea at the posh teahouse; but Fallon had felt it the best place for Salara to practice observation and infiltration in her current skill level and perhaps she’d stumble across a juicy tidbit of information along with her dinner. It had already paid off as far as the Kelvic was concerned. One couldn’t patronize an elegant eating place without a nice outfit after all; so Fallon had sent her shopping. Appreciating the feel of silky sleeves, she brushes her hands across her new skirt in case there were any stray cougar hairs lurking upon it and wished, not for the first time, for a looking glass to see how she really appeared.

The Almond Blossom was richly furnished with comfortable seating, welcoming patrons to sit and stay for a spell. Warm baked smells accompanied the rumble of conversations, an occasional clatter from the kitchen as the wait staff moved between rooms, and faint melodies from some stringed instrument. A Konti hostess looks up with an expression of inquisitive welcome as she notices Salara unaccompanied. “Welcome to The Almond Blossom. I’m the proprietress, Korona. Would you like a table for one or are you expecting company?”

Impressed and a little intimidated to meet the establishment's owner straight off, for some reason Salara felt guilty although she really had no plans to do anything wrong. She was discovering that businesswomen of any region could do that to you. Unexplained doubt bled into her response, “Reservation for one please. Kel’Halavath?” “Very good then, please, walk this way.” Noticing Korona limped slightly it was all she could do not to emulate the inadvertent directive. Rolling both lips to pinch between her teeth she manages to keep a nervous chortle at bay.

Presented to a small table proximal to the center of the room near the main servant isle was about as perfect as she could have asked. Taking her seat in a heavy well-padded chair she peruses the card Korona provided, elegantly scripted with the day’s menu. Just as she was about to choose ‘Korona’s Special,’ hoping it might earn brownie points for her, the kitchen door swings open wafting a delicious spicy smell that prompted the Konti’s pleased look as Salara’s nose went into the air, “The Chef’s Choice tonight includes fresh pan-seared snapper with both liquamen and passum sauces. Your server will attend you in a moment. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

As she waited for her server, she pulls out a parchment pad and ink stick to begin jotting anything down that might prove useful later. Soon a thin, nearly turquoise Akalak waiter came for her order. She couldn’t help but notice his curiosity in her dining alone or what she might be up to with her pad and ink. Placing her order she smiles disarmingly, “The Chef’s Choice please. If you could, ask your chef to surprise me with recommendation of wine pairing and course accompaniment. Only no soup for me, not with these sleeves!" Leaning in as if to tell a secret she reflexively draws the Akalak man in closer, “It sounds like a wonderful comparison to what I might find at Laviku’s Secret or The Crystal Rose. I'm writing an article on the finest dining in Riverfall!” His eyes widen slightly as he becomes ever more charming before taking his leave going directly to Korona with the information.

From the corner of her eye she watches Korona’s alarmed expression before the proprietress passes through the kitchen doors with deliberate steps. Spending her time listening to the conversations around her, Salara records a few minimal observations about the people and general conversations – many focusing on the recent variety of emotional occurrences that had everyone in an uproar.

Several times she caught various server eyes trying to discretely slide across her pages as they passed by.

A whisper was spreading through the kitchen that was enough to pull Orin’s attention off of his work. He’d finished cutting the fillets, and his preliminary sauces were off the stove, and ready for the next step. However, the waiters clearly gossiping, combined with a very concerned looking Korana caused even the chef to pause in his work, something that was nearly unheard of. Something was going on, and it definitely did not appear to be good news. Orin sighed. His season had already been filled with all sorts of drama. He’d been hoping for some quiet time in the kitchen, where he wasn’t forced to deal with some crisis or another. Apparently, that was too many cu to hope for. The Konti finally came near and gestured for the human to lean in close. “Orin, we have a problem.”

Orin wanted to make some sort of quip, but the deadly serious expression on Korana’s face made him reconsider. So, instead Orin nodded and set down the pot he had been holding. Korana almost never looked like this and Orin wondered what could make the normally levelheaded and calm woman look so spooked. “I guessed as much. What's going on and what can I do to help.”

Korana nodded in thanks. “There's apparently a critic of some kind or other here. A woman, finely dressed.” That made even Orin take notice. Critics were almost unheard of, and there hadn't been another one in all of Orin’s time at The Almond Blossom. The restaurant had long rested on the laurels of its reputation, and there simply wasn't that much need for reviews of food in the city. News was passed mostly through word of mouth, so it was much more likely that this was either an inspector of some sort for the city or that she was a representative of some rich family that was shopping for a new cook or a place to host an event. Regardless, though, all those situations needed delicate handling. Korana, seeing that Orin followed the implications to their conclusion, kept up her explanation. “She requested the chef’s special. I need you to personally make sure that she gets everything she needs. Unfortunately I have to go back to the front and seat people but I'll keep an eye on the proceedings. She's at the table for Kel’Halavath, sitting alone, with a book. Can’t miss her.” With that, Korana bustled out of the kitchen and back to her station, leaving Orin, as the senior most member of The Almond Blossom after her – Dolmar was out tonight – in charge of this situation.

Orin wanted to go run and hide. He hated this sort of pressure, and success would rely almost as much on his ability to be charming as it would on his ability to cook, which probably meant they were doomed. The chef wasn’t exactly famed for his oratory skills; quite the opposite, in fact. Still, he had risen to the occasion before, and he probably would here as well.

The waiter who had spoken to the critic had stopped by, letting Orin know of her requests. Orin went up on his tiptoes, which still wasn’t enough to reach the Akalak’s ear. Still it let Orin whisper. “Get the woman at the table sitting alone with a book a glass or a bottle, whichever she prefers, of a red wine that pairs well with fish with a red wine sauce.” Orin didn’t always know what wines they had in stock but the waiters usually did, and Orin trusted them at least that much. “Also, bring her some bread and olive oil, and ask her if she’d like some cheese, salad, or fruit to start her off. Bring her what she asks for.” The waiter nodded, and headed off to do as he was told.Orin for his part was already moving on to the next step in the process. This wouldn’t take all that long to cook, but if this were a real critic, it would have to be perfect. The chef still had his doubts about the woman’s presence here, but when he went out to actually meet her, he could get a better sense of what the woman was actually doing here.

The sauces went into a pot, along with vinegar, some red wine, pepper, celery seeds, dried onion, olive oil, lovage. That pot went onto the stove, and Orin put some of the snapper onto a frying pan, which he slid onto the stove next to the pot. The sauce eventually started to simmer and Orin added wheat starch, which he’d made a while back by putting wheat flour in water and letting it evaporate, leaving just the wheat starch behind. This would let the sauce thicken. While that was happening, Orin flipped the fish over, since they had started to brown on the bottom and he wanted them to cook all the way through. The fish finished before the sauce, and the chef slid it onto a plate. Finally, the sauce finished, and Orin took a ladle and started pouring the sauce onto the fish artfully. Once it was covered, Orin went to a different station, where there was an assortment of grilled vegetables, and place d them on the plate next to the snapper. Then, holding the tray as the waiters did, with their fingers underneath, he emerged from the world of the kitchen into the dining room.

The whole staff watched him go subtly, tracking his progress as they took their orders or cleared their tables. Orin ignored them. He had one goal and one goal only, to impress this Miss Kel’Halavath. Clearly, she didn’t realize she had met her match. Approaching her table, Orin could see her notebooks open before her. She was a tall woman, far taller than Orin with long blonde hair, green eyes, and a slender but hardy build. She was pretty enough, and so were her clothes, but something was off about her and Orin couldn’t exactly figure out what it was. “Hello Miss Kel’Halavath. My name is Orin Fenix and I’m the head chef here tonight. Therefore it is my pleasure to bring you the chef’s special,” placing the fish and vegetables in front of her as he finished speaking.

Standing by her table, Orin realized what was so odd. Despite her finery, she didn’t appear to wear it comfortably. She also seemed to not have the mannerisms he would expect from an upper class woman who was at The Almond Blososm. Beyond that, letting slip that she was a critic was stupid. If she was actually a critic then the whole point was to experience the restaurant from the perspective of a regular customer, and now she’d get preferential treatment. Still, this would be an oddly elaborate prank to pull, so despite his doubts Orin would play along. “I always enjoy getting to meet the customers and today is your lucky day, since I only meet with a select few each meal. It helps me making sure my food is getting to the right place and being enjoyed.”

Orin bowed to the woman then, before continuing to speak. “I would be happy to provide you with anything else you might need. It is my hope that you will enjoy the time you have here. And, as I said, we will do everything in our power to accommodate your needs, as long as you communicate them with us.” After all that, it seemed appropriate that the chef give Miss Kel’Halavath the opportunity to respond.

As anticipation grew dreadfully among the staff at the unexpected attention of her presence, Salara was essentially casing the joint. Oh, not for the usual purpose, thievery, but in the same manor. In fact, approaching an observation from this perspective made her consider areas she had never before which could be just as informative if it were. Acoustics for one, from where she sat normal voices were distinctive to her from as far as five tables away, but might shift with high traffic areas or a busier crowd. Becoming familiar with the range at each table and then devising some way to be seated more closely to a preferred table at any one time would be useful.

Jotting her thought down leaving plenty of space for afterthoughts and ideas she was gently interrupted by her server. “Miss Kel’Halavath, Chef Orin asked that I present you with a most appropriate wine for your meal and ask your preference for fruit, salad or cheese.” Looking up with a frown wondering what part of ‘surprise me’ didn’t they understand?, “Cheese please, thank you.” Salara watched as the tall Akalak, nervous at her frown, pours a splash of red then stands waiting for her approval. Everyone else did too and Salara realized her mistake in giving away her alias too soon. They were certainly an attentive bunch; but it was difficult to see how not obvious they could be when they weren’t stirred up. She was getting more attention than she cared to and she jots that note down as well.

Not entirely unprepared she checked off each step for wine sampling in her mind that Fallon had run her through: sniff and swirl, looking for something called ‘legs’ along the side of the glass, a delicate sip rolled around her mouth and swallow. Somehow managing to not show a bitter face at the unaccustomed taste, she nods, “This will be fine thank you.” He pours a more than generous glass with her hoping it would taste better with the meal. There was something else worth learning – a taste for wine. This was becoming a lesson in ‘what you don’t know about what you don’t know.’ Almost for spite she allows herself one written note of excuse: Even a food critic would have to start as a novice somewhere.

Gladdened to find the wine and cheese paired well together, but not so well that she would over-imbibe; her appetite was whetted in anticipation of her meal. Salara was pleased to see Korana seat a couple of Akalak gentlemen two tables away whom she recognized from the council meetings she had attended. It would be a boon to walk away with some information on top of the lessons, she thought as the pair put their heads together. But just as they seemed to get into deeper conversations she noticed the eyes of the servers all turn to follow one person, Chef Orin, as he quickly introduced himself, paying her the compliment of serving her meal directly.

Now all eyes had turned upon her including those of the council members who paused their conversation with small frowns to watch her on display. Whetting her mouth with a delicate sip of wine to buy a tick for composure, she smiles a touch formally, “I anticipate that the pleasure will be mine, Chef Orin.” Typically she would attempt to match the dialect of the region for practice; but she felt being well traveled might provide more credibility to her efforts and hopefully excuse any faux pas here, so Ravok was heavy on her tongue as she spoke truthfully. “My patron and I have recently come from Syliras and before that spent time in Zeltiva, where the restaurants left something to be desired. This is my first fine meal in Riverfall and I’ve anticipated it greatly.”

Salara danced her fingers across the illegible scrawls of her notes worried that she might be expected to eat in front of them like one of the caged creatures in the menagerie. Looking past the chef she sees some of the customers begin disgruntled whispering at all the fuss and raises a brow with her volume, “Your graciousness is noted and I do hope such is the same for any one of your patrons?” She wondered if the Almond Blossom would begin seeing more ‘critics’ after her escapade because word of this fine service would surely get out.

Finally resigning herself to the role she grants her audience the experience of the first bite. Flaking one of two prongs of her fork against the filet, she eyes the sauces wondering which was liquamen and which passum. One or the other, not both she dips an edge in, sniffing curiously and, with fork raised in salute to the chef, slides it into her mouth pulling it out between pressed lips.

Breath seems to still as Salara samples the first bite. With impassive face she chews methodically, swallows, and sighs…noncommittal. Some would guess more toward pleasure and others would argue otherwise. But they don’t see the leap of brightness in her eye, of pupils dilating and indrawn breath that Chef Orin would. Feeling just a bit ornery she keeps the crowd in suspense as she purposefully writes, quite legibly, ‘Magnificent!’ upon her page, turns it to the next, and then looks at him pointedly.

The more time Orin spent in this situation, the more it failed to add up. He didn’t know exactly what was causing him to doubt Miss Kel’Halavath’s story, but there were hints here and there. The way she didn’t seem quite comfortable in her finery; the slightly stilted way in which the conversation was proceeding; her rather unusual accent; and, most importantly, the fact that any food critic worth their salt wouldn’t make such a novice mistake as to let their identity known, it all piled on top of itself to make him doubt this situation was as it seemed. Still, his suspicions were just that, suspicions, as he had no actual proof to back up the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that the woman wasn’t who she said she was. Still, he’d be watching her carefully for any more signs that she was playing him false in some way shape or form. Illegal activities in Riverfall were punished quite severely, but impersonating a food critic wasn’t actually a crime, just an inconvenience to the restaurant.

Realizing that he’d have to stay and make conversation so that she couldn’t send him away that easily, regardless of whether she was a real critic or not, Orin scrambled to order his thoughts in a way that would not only get her to allow him to stay, but also would allow him to probe her for more information on whether she liked the food and whether she was an actual critic. It would be a careful investigative dance, which wasn’t Orin’s specialty, but Korana and the Almond Blossom were relying on him to keep her entertained and his own curiosity was piqued and wouldn’t let him back off. Hopefully she’d be so busy keeping up her own act, either as a true or false food critic that didn’t want to be discovered, that she wouldn’t notice any awkwardness on Orin’s part. “Please, miss, Orin is fine. No need for formality here. You’ll find we’re a friendly lot.” Luckily, being in his home away from home, the restaurant where he’d made his living, gave Orin an inner strength and confidence he didn’t have anywhere else. No one was going to get one over on him in his own territory after all, and the staff all supported him unconditionally.

Luckily, after such a generic but kind statement on his part, the woman gave him a rather good opening to insert himself further into the conversation. She didn’t know it, but he was from Syliras originally, as the burr in his voice would tell anyone family with the place. He’d managed to lose most of the mannerisms and accent from the Mithryn Outpost but it occasionally crept into his voice when he wasn’t paying attention. “Oh? Your patron and you are from Syliras? That’s so funny, I’m from Syliras originally, although I’ve been in Riverfall a while now.” Orin made sure his voice was bright, cheerful, and friendly, and truth was, it would be nice to chat with someone who wasn’t a member of the order and had been in the Fortress city recently. “Would you mind if I joined you for a bit? I’d love some news from my old home. Perhaps we have some mutual acquaintances.” Hopefully she’d acquiesce to his request and if so, he’d sit in the currently unoccupied chair at the other end of her small table.

He’d never been to Zeltiva, although he’d heard about it from travelers to Syliras. Still, if Miss Kel’Halavath was from there, perhaps that’s where her unusual accent originated. “I cannot say that I’ve had the pleasure of visiting Zeltiva. Perhaps you can tell me more about it.” He wanted to keep her talking, as learning more about her would only serve his purposes. Remembering she’d mentioned a patron, Orin debated asking her more about it, but figured that it was something he could bring up later on in the conversation. Instead, he decided to broach a different topic in the hopes of learning more about this myserious woman. “Well, I hope The Almond Blossom lives up to your expectations.” Holding his hands clasped in front of him, Orin continued with the set of questions he’d wanted to ask her as soon as she’d mentioned Syliras. “You seem like a woman of fine taste. Did you happen to have a favorite restaurant in Syliras while you visited?” After all, if she were truly a food critic, it would only make sense for her to have visited the fine dining locations back in the fortress city. Orin hadn’t worked at any of them, more’s the pity, but he knew of them, at least, as Syliras was so self-contained that everyone working in the same industry by necessity knew of each other. If she couldn’t remember any of them or made something up, perhaps he would confirm some of his notions about this encounter.

Miss Kel’Halavath seemed to be getting wary of his continued presence at her table, and Orin tried to figure out something that would justify the chef waiting around for her to eat. “Of course. Patrons always come first for us here. We strive for perfection here at The Almond Blossom, as I’m sure you know,” he began. “As you are the first to order the special this evening” – a lie, but not one she would know – “I would just like to make sure that everything is to your liking. That feedback will be immensely helpful and I would appreciate hearing anything you might feel about the dish.” Orin was surprised at how smoothly he was bending the truth, and how reasonable he felt his explanation was. That was probably because his words were a mix of truth, since he really was genuinely curious about her reaction to his cooking, and falsehoods, since it wasn’t actually that common for him to leave the kitchen to find out. Still, she wouldn’t know that, having never been to The Almond Blossom before, and hopefully she’d find it reasonable enough for Orin to await her first bites.

She apparently was willing to oblige his request, and Orin noted that several nearby tables were watching their exchange. He cured internally at drawing attention to her, as that no doubt would influence her decision. Still, as she slowly, oh so slowly, put a bite in her mouth and chewed, Orin could see her eyes widen in what he could only assume was pleasure. Score one for me. He was beginning to enjoy their back and forth, and clearly, as she wrote in her notebook, she had liked the fish if the twinkle in her eye was any judge. Still, since she hadn’t said anything out loud, he figured he should give her the opportunity to play to the audience or not. “I hope that it is to your liking, Miss Kel’Halavath.”

No need for formality. “Orin then," her smile is genuine. "I’m Salara and pleased to meet you.” She almost relaxed enough to make a friend during dinner until he assumed, as she rightfully had intended, that she’d spent more time in Syliras than she actually had. Reminded that this was on-the-job training she began refashioning her thoughts. However, any hope for time to think and finish this lovely meal undisturbed was dashed as Orin quite abruptly welcomed himself to a seat across the table to the startled flutter of her eyelashes.

The chef then quick fired several questions her way, the nosey git. Normally she wouldn’t suspect a thing about his friendly commentary but her own hidden agenda caused her to reflect him having one too. If he were a chatty sort maybe there was a reason he normally stayed in the kitchen? Perhaps his nerves were on edge about her opinion of his cooking? Or more concerning, had some doubt of her authenticity begun to niggle at him? Her mind worked on how best she might play to any of the three possibilities, as likely this attention was a combination of them all. Shew this was getting complicated!

Finding it more and more difficult to keep her brow un-furrowed (or worse flunking out in some spectacular fashion), for thinking in too many directions at once, she finally decides to just relax and go with it. “I’m particularly fond of fish and this is really quite good.” Fallon had planned well once the menu had been posted to pick a day with a special Salara knew more about. Loosening a firm lean flake from the red skin, she tries it without sauce, “It’s moist and sweet,” then samples another bite with the sauce she hadn’t tried before. “I like it best with the savory rather than the sweet, but really it doesn’t need a thing more.” Expressions brightened all around the dining room and one, likely a frequent customer, called out, ‘Attaboy Orin.’

As she moved the vegetables strategically around her plate between bites of fish, she continued, “I’m from Ravok; but do you know?” Head tilts curiously, “I’m cultivating an ear for accents, yet nearly missed the Syliras behind your Riverfall. It must have been awhile since you were there? Can you believe they actually closed the gates on the capital city of Sylira? It took nearly everyone by surprise, even some of the Syliran Knights! Nature’s cycles were thrown off when winter did not come.” Waggling her fork at him she tsks, “The Almond Blossom has the advantage. While I was there their supplies were not the best. I’ll not malign those establishments to you for a fault not their own.”

Glancing around it seemed that their casual conversation wasn't as interesting to the other patrons and most of the staff had gone about their duties. Only Korana kept a steady eye on them. Now that they weren't a focus of attention she wondered if she could experiment a little. Her lips quirk fondly thinking of Zeltiva as she strokes a wolfs’ teeth and red stone pendant about her neck. Leaning forward to naturally draw him closer as if to speak more privately, “Zeltiva is a rustic back water town that, quite frankly, beats your snapper when cooked from a simple stand on the wharf."

Should he frown it would lend toward her effort; yet so he might not find offense she added, "Tis my own opinion and preference of course." From the corner of her eye Salara watched others follow her motion while one server discretely redirected his step to walk past. The patrons did not react. "But it doesn’t have all of this,” she twirls her fork around the fine table settings and higher about the restaurant and the staff. “But the people are for the most part, good, upstanding, and honest.”

At the first break in their conversation she goes back to her illegible scrawl, noting the realization that they had become less interesting to their audience as they began chatting but certain motions would draw attention back. "It seems you've got a supportive crew here to allow you to spend such time with a customer. Don't they miss you in the kitchen? Surely they'd keep you informed of any perceived need?"

Dredging the last bite of fish through both sauces she polishes it off with a delicate wipe to mouth's corners with the linen napkin and another sip of wine that she was please to find did taste better with the food's flavors.